Christmas Woe Ho Ho
by Gomes
Summary: [CG] Santa baby...hurry down the chimney tonight. Graveshift December Challenge
1. Here Comes Santa Claus

TITLE: Christmas Woe Ho Ho

AUTHOR: Gomey

ARCHIVE: Anywhere, just let me know so I can brag, hehe.

DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.

RATING: R

SPOILERS: None

SUMMARY: Santa baby...hurry down the chimney tonight.

NOTES: December Graveshift Challenge (December 7th 2004)

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Christmas rounded the corner, and the cold temperatures descended, bringing forth a chilled rain as stereotypical snow's replacement. The warm glow from houses emanated comfort and security to those who braved the cold, and created a hurried sense of yearning that spawned speed in their stride.

Christina Smith looked out the window, eyes wide with anticipation for the morn to come. Granted, the seven year old knew that Christmas was not for another week, but each morning brought her closer to her favourite day, and each night found her wishing to catch a glimpse of Santa out for a test run.

Her ears tingled; had that just been the faint noise of pitter-patter sounding on her roof-top? Hands still fastened against the frosty window, she turned her head as a smile spread slowly across her lips. Her blue eyes shone with pure joy as she pushed herself away from the window, and hurried to the fireplace, where stockings hung patiently for Christmas's wake.

The fireplace hadn't been lit that day; the blaze's absence allowing the little girl to peek in, staring up the darkened chimney's neck. Soot floated down, sprinkling her button nose as she gazed up with interest, eyes wide with hope. Two black boots came into view, and a girlish giggle escaped her lips as she hopped back, leaving room for the awaited guest. "Mommy! Mommy! Santa's here!"

------------

He watched her, knowing that her posture stood proud but her eyes revealed the pain behind. She was standing in front of the house, arms wrapped around her frame. Her foot tapped nervously, the toe of her boot lightly grazing her field kit that had been placed on the ground.

She stood still, eyes unfocused in front of her, feeling every droplet of water that collided with her being. It was Christmas time...even after twenty years she couldn't accept that tragedy could happen during what was supposed to be a magical time of year. A sigh coincided with the cease of heaven's tears, and she glanced to her left, feeling a presence beside her.

Umbrella in hand, Gil took his place slightly behind her, offering shelter from the sky's deluge. "You okay?" His voice was soft, meant for her senses only.

She glanced at him, seeing the red and blue alternating lights dance off his boyish features, before looking back at the house; eyes dancing from the open front door where a mother was being ushered out with her daughter and then up to the chimney where a crane lifted a large portion of chimney off the house. She sighed, not bothering to offer and answer - she knew he would see through any bravery she would fake, instead she walked over to where the mother and daughter sat in the ambulance, sheltered from the rain. Catherine observed the mother wrap the blanket tighter around her little girl, and lean her head against the youngun's. Sighing she knelt down, placing herself at eye level with the girl. "Hi, I'm Catherine."

The girl looked at her mother and then back at the strawberry blonde woman in front of her. "Christina. Have you found my daddy yet?"

Catherine swallowed hard and then glanced apologetically at the child's mother. "We have...um..."

"Chrissy..." Janet Smith's lips trembled and tears trailed down her cheeks. "Daddy's..." She sighed and dropped her head to her chest.

"He's not coming back, is he?" The child's voice held tears but her eyes remained dry. She looked up at the chimney, watching the crane swing with unexpected precision, and deposit the brick enclosure in a truck. "Is that where he is?"

Catherine nodded, and placed a hand on the girl's knee. Her eyes found the mother's stare, and she offered a sad smile. "I'm so sorry..." She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned around to meet the sympathetic blue eyes of her supervisor. Nodding, she turned back to the victims, attempting to provide hope for such a difficult trial. "We have a place for you to stay for a couple of weeks, until we get everything back to normal -"

"- what about Santa?" The girl asked, worry shining in her eyes.

"I forwarded the new address to him, and he'll come and visit you, I promise." Catherine's sincerity touched Janet, inciting a smile from Christina.

"I know just what to ask him too..." She smiled with childlike innocence, her eyes watching the truck drive off with the chimney'd package.

Teary eyed, Catherine stood up and faced Gil, unable to meet his eyes as she headed towards the house. Picking up her field kit, she continued to head towards the door even when a hand grabbed her arm to restrain.

"Catherine."

She pressed on, using all of her strength to ignore the concern in his voice.

"Catherine."

She dismissed the growing anger and gained a few more steps.

"Catherine!"

She was jerked back, and landed clumsily against his chest, where she remained: hands clenched into fists, head pressed against the damp material, heart gasping for oxygen.

"Go home, I'll call in Nick..." Gil closed his eyes, bringing his hand to rest on the nape of her neck, holding him close to her.

"No...I have to do this - for her. I have to help -"

"Then go home...take some time -"

"You're not taking me off this case!" She pushed herself away from him, attempting to dry her eyes.

"You can't give her what she wants, Cath!" Gil stepped closer to her, placing both hands on her shoulders, feeling the tension increase as seconds ticked by. "Catherine, you're too emotionally involved...I'm sorry."

Distancing herself from him, she picked up her field kit, heading straight to her car. The frigid rain drops mingled with her tears as she stepped into her Denali, shutting the door forcefully behind her. Starting the car, she threw one last look at Gil and drove off.

He watched her until the car disappeared in the foggy air, and turned towards the house. Picking up his kit, he mumbled to himself in a sing-song voice, "it's the most...wonderful time...of the year..."

–TBC–


	2. I'll Have a Blue Christmas

Disclaimers et all in the first chapter.

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Gil took a deep breath and entered the residence, his eyes already scanning the decor. People's aesthetic choices always hinted to the victim or suspect's lifestyle, and each bit of information helped the other. He chewed the inside of his cheek in contemplation, noting the warm colours of burgundy and gold dispersed around the house, but the sense of belonging security that came with it had been stripped away with the father's death. Theories flashed through his mind as he walked towards the fireplace, feeling the cold air gush through the dismantled chimney. Kneeling down, he opened his kit and snapped on his latex gloves, while his eyes perused the area in front of him.

Placing his hand on one of the wooden logs, he glanced upwards, thoughts of a possible suicide crossing his mind. He looked up at the abysmal clouds, thankful that the rain had momentarily ceased it's deluge. Sighing he leaned back on his heels, merely taking in his surroundings. Lifting his hand to pick up his flashlight, he spotted a foreign object stuck to his glove. He held his breath, and blindly felt for his tweezers while keeping his eyes glued to the matted down strand of hair that clung to his glove. He logged the piece of evidence, assuming it would be the father's but hoping it would support the other theories that boggled his mind.

"Grissom."

He turned around, hearing the familiar Texan accent greet him. "Nick, hey." He looked up and then back at the young CSI expectantly.

"Brass gave me a few details," he took out his notepad, "kid hears footsteps on the roof, thinks it's Santa Claus, calls her mother because they think 'Santa' is stuck. She assumes that it's her husband humouring their daughter, but that he has gotten stuck. Two hours and a firetruck later, they find that he's deceased, bedlem ensues. Body's being transported to Doc Robbins and you're processing the house with Catherine - "

"Copy that, -we're- processing the house." Gil corrected him, searching through the soot and logs that lay waiting in the fireplace.

"What happened to Catherine?"

Gil glanced at Nick and then looked up to the ceiling. "You take the roof, I'll continue to process inside the house. Right now, it looks a possible suicide, but we don't rule anything out."

Nick lagged slightly, still regarding his supervisor with interest.

"Nick."

"Right." The young Texan turned on his heel and headed out the door, walking towards the ladder that the fire department had supplied.

Gil narrowed his eyes, his sight catching hold of a glimmer. Taking out his brush, he dusted the soot away, to reveal a gold ribbed ring; his eyes automatically zoomed in on some blood embedded in the ribs. He carefully deposited it in a bag and marked down the information, realizing that he would probably not find any more clues near the fireplace. He glanced up, seeing with his ears for any possible leads. Silence. "Nick?!"

Nick popped his head and looked down the remains of the chimney. "Yeah?"

"How long have you been up there?" Gil called out, a puzzled look on his face.

"For a bit...two or three minutes, why?"

"I didn't hear you walking around there..." Gil dropped his head to his chest, thoughts processing at a fantastic speed. "If you were going to commit suicide, you wouldn't try to draw attention to it, especially if your young daughter has a habit of waiting for Santa." Gil reasoned, and then his eyes grew wide. "Nick, don't move...don't move a muscle."

Nick stood bolt upright, fear and confusion battling it out. The wind howled by him, and he discreetly looked up, feeling one or two droplets of water hit his forehead. "Right, the daughter said that she heard footsteps on the roof - they must have been heavy if she heard them from the window."

"I was standing right near the fireplace and I didn't hear anything." Gil stood on the roof, trying to catch his breath. He glanced down the ladder, and then at the young CSI. "I'm getting too old for this..." He said, staying close to the edge.

"Careful you don't fall there, boss."

"Yeah yeah." Gil dismissed him and began looking on the floor. He smiled and knelt down, realizing that the rain might have washed away some evidence, but helped uncover more. Taking out a large piece of printing tape, he crawled on the roof, stretching out until he reached his desired destination. "Look at that."

"Can I move?"

The supervisor shot the young CSI an amused look. "Yes." He held up the footprint with a smirk, "rain rain, go away, come again another day."

Nick knelt on the ground, observing the footprint. "I think our suspect relied too much on the rain to cover up his tracks -"

" - instead it ratted him out." Gil added, with a smirk. Both CSIs looked around the roof and then glanced at eachother. "Let's just say it wasn't a suicide...how did he get up?"

"And how did the suspect get down, for that matter?" Nick fell silent, staring out at the other rooftops in the neighbourhood.

"Are you a good tree climber, Nicky?"

"The best there ever was, back in Texas!"

Gil smiled, taking in the childlike giddiness that travelled to him, curtesy of the young Texan. "I'm thinking this was the escape route."

"What about getting here? Mighty hard to lug a body up a tree." Nick stated cautiously stepping on the large limbs. A few pieces of bark dislodged, travelling to the ground below.

"Unless they both came up here, and only one left." The supervisor offered, eyeing the roof. He peered down, noticing an odd tint to the puddle near his feet. Clicking on his Mag-Lite, he took a swab from his pocket and dabbed it in the puddle, which boasted a different texture than normal H2O. After retrieving a sample, he dipped his finger in, and then rubbed his index and thumb together, before bringing it up to his nose. "Motor oil." His eyes snapped to the chimney.

"Flammable." Nick called out, now halfway down the tree. "So maybe the suspect assumed that no one would hear, and when the fireplace would be lit -"

" - it wouldn't be chestnuts roasting over an open-fire, that's for sure..." Gil muttered, heading towards the ladder. Taking one last glance at the roof, he paused, his eyes touching upon a curious phenomena. "Footprints and ... tracks." He stepped back on the roof, taking his camera from his pocket. Snapping a few pictures, he called out to Nick who was snapping a few pictures of his own, at the base of the tree. "He was dragged to the chimney and tossed in - I have heel marks."

"I have two sets of footprints near the base of the tree...so obviously two people went up." He hollered back.

Gil climbed down the ladder, picking up his case that he had laid at the base. "Let's go find that one that got away..."

* * *

Gil stepped into the lab, Nick trailing behind him until DNA where he was set to process the hair strand that he had found. "Don't forget the blood on the ring, and see if you can find anything with the shoe." Gil instructed the Texan, handing him his findings from the investigation. "I'm going to head to Robbins and see what exactly killed Mr. Smith, then read Mrs. Smith and her daughter's statement - maybe we missed something." 

Nick nodded and headed towards Greg, before dropping off the motor oil at Hodges station, in Trace.

* * *

"...and with the cold and flu medicine, he was most probably - " Al stopped talking and glanced up at the being who stood at the door, body riddled with shock. "Come on now Gil, I'm sure you probably seen worse than a man covered in soot." The older man smiled, looking down at the corpse placed in front of him. "Didn't you see Mary Poppins?" 

"Catherine?" Gil took a few steps, ignoring the coroner.

"Excuse me," she turned to her supervisor, offered him a defiant smile, and then turned back to Al. "So you were saying about the chemical reaction that the pills and the alcohol could have created?"

He stood there, staring at her in disbelief. "Catherine." His voice was more controlled this time, and the intensity forced her to turn around. "Doc," he began, not taking his eyes off the strawberry-blonde, "can you hold that thought for a second? I have a few things to discuss with Catherine before." Grabbing hold of her elbow, he directed her outside the morgue.

"What the hell, Gil?! I'm not a child!" She wrestled out of his grab, rubbing her elbow while shooting him a glare.

"I would hope not, though your attitude seems to reflect that." He let out an exasperated sigh. "I took you off this case, Catherine...you're not supposed to be here."

She rolled her eyes. "Look, believe what you want, but I'm not emotionally involved, okay? I had a little episode -"

"- little episode? You collapsed in tears, Catherine - that's not a little episode." He countered, mimicking her tone of voice to punctuate his argument. "You're off this case, this is not up for discussion."

She pressed her lips together, staring him down. "I need to take this case, Gil..." She explained cryptically, through gritted teeth. Giving him one last look, she turned on her heel, placing the palm of her hand against the large doors.

"Catherine, don't make me call security." His words held an assurance, but his eyes betrayed him, offering her leeway in.

"You wouldn't." She laid out her dare, ready to call his bluff. Her eyes grew wide, watching as he retrieved his cell phone from his pocket.

"One step in the morgue..." He flipped his phone open, his finger lightly caressing the keypad. "Don't make me do this, Catherine, please."

"Gil..."

"Just go home, Catherine. Let me do this case, and we'll move on."

"Why...what do you know?" She took a step forward, eager to find out more information.

"That this case won't do you any good." He paused, dropping his head to his chest. "Go home, Cath."

She closed her eyes, anger aching to be released. Turning she opened the door and stepped in, tossing a contemptuous look over her shoulder. Smugly, she knew he wouldn't put her in an embarrassing position so she chanced his bluff, heading over to the morgue.

Al glanced up upon seeing Catherine stride over, placing both her hands on the side of the metal slab where the DB now lay. "Everything okay?"

"Peachy." She replied flatly. She straightened upon hearing the door close and glanced at her supervisor through her peripheral vision.

"Gil...?" Al now questioned the Graveshift supervisor, immediately feeling the tension bubble heavily in the room.

He kept his eyes down, seemingly observing the victim, but his mind was elsewhere. He bit his lip, hearing the door open and close behind him, the clinking of metal causing him to cringe. "No cuffs, just escort her out, please." He kept his eyes closed, guilt boiling his blood.

Catherine opened her mouth, aghast. "Gil?" Fury laced her tone as she looked from the officer to both men in the room. She yanked her arm away from the officer's grasp and stormed out of the morgue, a string of curses following her.

He raised his eyes to meet the pale blue ones of the coroner, ever sparkling with concerned curiosity. His sad reply reminisced the lament of the song; "I'll have a blue Christmas, that's certain; and when that blue heartache starts hurting..."

—TBC—


	3. MistleWoe

Disclaimers et all in first chapter.

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Gil stepped out of his office in sync with Mallory Smith and her daughter exiting the interrogation room. He stopped and stared at the woman, who eventually felt his gaze and slowly turned, locking eyes. His eyes faltered slightly, falling down to her hands which she wrung nervously, and then back up to her eyes.

Images of her body naked - her face reflecting bouts of ecstacy, flashed in his mind but he remained still, unblinking.

Jim walked up the supervisor, waving two sealed DNA swabs in front of him, while taking out his notepad with his other hand. "So I talked them into giving DNA samples - just to make the job easier..." The captain trailed off, noting Gil's zoned-out stare. He followed his gaze to Mallory, just in time to see her quickly turn away. He glanced back at him with a smirky grin, eyebrow raised with impure implications. "What, you know her or something?" He turned, giving Mallory the once over and then glanced back, only to see Gil's retreating form, who had merely thrown a cold 'no' over his shoulder.

Gil first made a pit stop in the trace lab, giving a slight nod of acknowledgment to David Hodges, as he rummaged through the case's evidence box. He picked up the ring and glanced at it, his stomach tightening with disgust. His eyes scanned the inscription over and over, wanting desperately for there to be some error, but each time the writing denied his desire.

Frowning, he placed it back in the box and headed towards DNA, his fingers lightly tapping the samples he held. He reached there, thankful to find the room surprisingly deserted. Cutting the swabs, he placed it in the solution and let it dissolve all the while his impatience getting the best of him. He focused on controlled breaths and repeated the same process with the other.

Placing them in the thermocycler, he waited for the printer to spring life into the quiet lab. He drummed his fingers on the table for a few minutes before noticing Greg's boombox in the corner. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he dared himself to venture over and discover what type of music would grace his senses.

Pressing play, a snippet of blaring, screaming lyrics and curse words galore slapped him in the face, before he quickly shut it off, staring at the boombox with distaste. The printer beeped it's results and he quickly walked over to view them, thankful for a distraction to his distraction. Entering the information in the CODIS database, he printed out another paper and viewed the results.

He hung his head in defeat, having observed seven matching alleles from one paper to the next. He underlined the name 'Christina Smith' with his finger, and did the same under the name 'Eddie Willows' on the other paper. "That son of a bitch." He muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. Exhaustion - both physically and especially psychologically were ganging up on him, and he was feeling the stressed repercussions. He had a suspicion the moment he heard Mallory's name and had wanted one of the younger CSIs to accompany him but Catherine wouldn't step down from the case, and in the end, he could never refuse her.

She always knew Eddie had cheated on her, but he didn't want any compromises to arise had she known that one of the causes of her failed marriage was now a victim of tragedy. The moment he saw that little girl, there had been something about her that screamed Eddie, or perhaps a hunch for expecting the worse had stumbled across him. Had Eddie known that he had a second daughter? Did Mallory Smith know that her husband wasn't the biological father of Christina? Did Mallory know that Eddie was married when she slept with him, time after time? And what had been Jarod's thoughts on the subject? Were his actions ultimately the cause of his death?

As those questions plagued his mind, the same image flashed across his mind again, that of Mallory's naked body - her face mirroring pleasure unforseen and finally, horror reflected in her eyes - horror for being caught. His mind's picture expanded, now taking in Eddie's guiltless look as he finished up, and then covered up.

Gil let out a deep breath, knowing that if Catherine ever found out that Eddie had a daughter with another woman...it would tear her apart. He stood up and walked distractedly to his office, placing the papers on his desk and locking up after him. He headed towards the break room, having spotted Jim head in there earlier. "Jim, did you get anything more from the Smiths?" He asked, sitting beside the captain, at the table.

Jim nodded, taking another bite of his sandwich. He tossed his notepad on the table. "Well, little Christina spilled that 'daddy' liked to climb the tree and sit on the roof whenever he got mad."

Gil raised his eyebrow. "And I'm sure mommy knew this." He shook his head.

Jim glanced at Gil. "What, you're thinking the mother?"

"The mother?" Nick stepped in and took a seat across from both men, dropping a folder in front of him. "You too?"

Gil eyed the Texan curiously. "Theory?"

"Evidence." A cheeky smile followed as Nick held up his folder. "Footprints belonged to both Mallory Smith and Jarod Smith - I went back and matched the prints to their shoes. Mallory Smith's shoes still held muck from the rain."

"Shoes just mean she was there at the crime scene - it doesn't give a time line." Gil countered.

"True, but the mud was still pretty fresh, which proves that she was out when it was raining. Both her footprints and her husband's were the only ones, and then a heavier set indented the previous pair...her size." Nick added, his eyes scanning his notes before jumping from captain to supervisor.

"What about the strand of hair?" Jim's muffled voice weakly made it to their ears, as he wiped his mouth with a napkin.

"Mallory's. It must have fallen when she was trying to stuff her deceased husband in the chimney."

"Couldn't it have fallen out some other time?" Jim asked.

"Actually, it was ripped out because it still had the cell tag attached. I'm thinking that there might have been a slight struggle and that Jarod's ring might have snagged some hair in the moment...and then they both fell when he was stuffed in." Nick added, supporting his theory with a proud smile.

"Oh yeah, the ring. Maybe Jarod was divorcing her..." Jim hypothesized.

"Yeah, she freaked and went all 'black widow' on him." Nick added, grinning at his own humour.

Gil cringed and shook his head. "First, the black widow only kills after copulating, and second..." he paused, letting out a deep breath, "it wasn't Jarod's ring - it was Eddie's."

"What?!"

All three heads turned, and each held their breath upon seeing Catherine staring at them in shock. She closed her mouth and Gil saw the minute quiver of her lower lip. "Cath..." He called out to her retreating form, as she tried desperately keep her composure. He got up and gave chase down the hall, all the way outside in the once again pouring rain. "Cath...Catherine wait!"

She ran, collapsing against her car as her hand blindly tried to reach for the handle. A warm hand covered hers and she felt his energy mingle with hers as the tears stung her eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?" It was soft and out-of-breath, with barely any air to travel on. "What else are you keeping from me?" She turned, glancing at him with hurt in her eyes - hurt caused by her unfaithful ex-husband and pain caused by her secretive best-friend.

"It's not like that Catherine, I -"

"Every time, Gil! Every time you keep something from me!" She shrugged off his attempt to comfort her, and placed both hands on his shoulder, pushing him away from her. "Did you have a good laugh, huh?"

He cocked his head to the side, questioning the sarcasm in her tone.

"You told Jim...you told Nick, and yet you couldn't tell me!"

"They're part of the case, it was a legitimate course of action." He answered, once again advancing towards her.

"It was a cowardly course of action, Gil." She pushed him back again, though it lacked any force; her emotions draining her physical energy dry. "I have to," she glanced back at him, disgusted with his behaviour, "I have to get out of here." She opened the door and slammed it, revving the car to life. Buckling up, she drove out of the parking lot without a second glance, leaving the one man who truly cared about her, standing alone in the drizzled rain.

* * *

Gil walked dejectedly back into the break room, avoiding the sympathetic gazes of the other two men in the room. 

"How she doing?" Jim inquired, his concern mirroring Nick's questioning look.

Gil shrugged, putting on a fake smile. "She's fine...she understands." He tried vainly to lie for her, hoping that his confidence would devoid any unnecessary pity in her direction.

Jim and Nick shared a look that didn't go unnoticed by the supervisor, and he silently dared them to press the matter further.

Nick shrugged, taking out a folded piece of paper. "Doc stopped by while you were outside with Catherine." He stated, handing Gil the piece of paper.

"Death was by carbon monoxide poisoning, inhalation, though he did suffer massive trauma to the back of the head." Gil's eyes jumped up to meet the young Texan who was dangling something in front of his face.

"Samples of trace evidence that was found imbedded in Jarod Smith's skull."

"Glass." Gil observed the green tinted glass, twisting and flipping it, ensuring analysis of all angles. "So what...glass, tumbler, vase, pitcher -"

" - Heineken." Nick interrupted his supervisor.

"Heineken?"

"Yeah, Hodges ran it through the database; it matches colour, compound texture, width and materials to a 'T'." Nick added.

"Okay, so we have the how: Jarod was sitting on the roof, possibly after just having discovered that Christina isn't his, and that Mallory has been lying to him for the past seven years." Gil started, tossing out an idea.

"Someone climbs up the tree to join him, obviously someone who knows of his ritual and someone he trusts, because of the wound's location." Nick continued, adding his insights.

"Right, so Jarod gets whacked, is out for the count and then is stuffed down the chimney, where he inhales and ultimately suffocates on the toxic fumes."

"I'm thinking that Jarod might have found the ring, was holding on to it. While he was being carried, his limp arms flailing about...it might have snagged a piece of hair." Nick offered, tossing out possibilities of his own.

Gil remained silent, staring at the sample in his hand. His eyes focused on his hand, then on Jim's and finally on Nick's, before settling once again on his own. "Let's call Mrs. Smith back, shall we?"

* * *

Mallory Smith sat bolt upright on the straight-backed wooden chair that sat idly in the interrogation room. She stared straight ahead, while no energy was wasted on movements of any sort. Her lawyer sat beside her, staring at her client with a slight bite of worry. 

"Sorry to keep you waiting..." Jim apologized half-heartedly, offering a secretive smirk to the lawyer, who obviously knew every trick in the book.

"Please Mr. Brass, I know what you're up to, and I'm sure you're the furthest away from being sorry for your tardiness." Cynthia Johnson muttered, looking at the captain through her long bangs. "The longer you keep a suspect in suspense, the more nervous and antsy they get, and the more manipulative they get." She turned to her client, who was listening intently to the revelations offered by the defence attorney. "Just remain calm, listen to the questions and answer them only after giving them some thought." She glanced back at Jim and then at Gil, before giving them a smirk of her own. "Your move, I do believe."

Gil shrugged and sat down opposite Mallory, observing her meticulously before opening his interrogation. "Did Jarod Smith learn of your infidelity and ultimately the conception of your daughter by another man?"

Cynthia interrupted Mallory's stunned gaze. "You have no proof that my client was cheating on her husband, for all you know, that child could have been the result of a sexual assault."

"Oh, but I do know she was unfaithful..." Gil began, not taking his eyes off the suspect. "Do I need to repeat the question?" His voice was steady and controlled.

Mallory narrowed her eyes at the supervisor's smug attitude. "He found the ring, flipped - we argued before he stormed out of the house." She paused, her eyes drifting to the left before falling back on Gil's form. "I don't know where he went after that."

"But your daughter knew." Jim interjected, leaning against the wall.

"He went on the roof, didn't he? His secluded area where he goes to cool off." Gil added, his gaze piercing Mallory. "Have you climbed any trees lately?"

Mallory clasped her hands together, her fingers digging into her palms. "No, I don't go up there...I - I'm afraid of heights."

"I think you're more afraid of being alone..." Gil mumbled, his voice low and passively threatening. "We found your footprint on the roof and at the base of the tree." He waited for a response before he continued, and he smiled when a pang of fear echoed in the blues of her eyes. "Hair found in the fireplace -"

" - which could have been from years, even months ago." The lawyer interrupted him, taking down notes for the eventual case in court.

"Well, the cleaning service had come a week prior - we called the chimney sweep services...and it couldn't have been while she was lighting a fire for the hair would have burned up." Jim smiled, though it was laced with a Cheshire quality.

"Do you have a habit of ripping out your hair, or getting it caught in something, whenever you light a fire, Mrs. Smith?"

"Or do you merely enjoy putting out other people's fire?" Jim asked rhetorically.

"Hey!"

He placed his hands up in defence following the defence attorney's warning bellow.

"Jarod Smith was incapacitated with a major blow to the back of the head, and then stuffed down the chimney where, while unconscious, he died of carbon monoxide poisoning." Gil's eyes fell down to Mallory's hands, and noticed how she quickly dropped them on her lap, out of sight. "Motor oil was poured over his body - highly flammable, which would have accelerated the flames, once a fire would have been lit."

"Good thing that your daughter has a great sense of hearing, huh Mrs. Smith?" Jim asked sweetly, provocation his discreet intent. "Would have been a shame to see your marriage go up in flames like that -"

" - was Jarod going to divorce you, Mrs. Smith?" Gil questioned her a little too harshly.

Mallory paused, and glanced at her lawyer. "Yes."

"Did you go up to confront him, up on the roof?" Gil asked the suspect slowly, mirroring the tone one would take when scolding a child.

"Did things get out of control, Mrs. Smith?" Jim asked, his voice echoing Gil's.

"No...I didn't do anything." Her voice was thin, allowing both Gil and Jim to see right through it.

He once again noticed her fiddling with her hands and he decided to act upon her nervous gesture. "May I see your hands?"

"Why?" Cynthia eyed Gil aggressively, pondering his intent.

"Palm reading - show him your hands." Jim's eloquent sarcasm spawned a glare from the defence attorney and she gave a solemn nod to her client, giving her permission to showcase her hands. The snap of latex gloves caused both the suspect and lawyer to glance up at the supervisor.

Producing a pair of tweezers from his kit, Gil reached out for Mallory's hand and observed it with great interest. His eyes zoomed in on the tiny green crystals that laid embedded in superficial gauges in her skin. Meticulously, he plucked a few of the crystals and placed them in a clear bag. "Do you drink, Mrs. Smith?"

"I have a beer once in a while, yes." Mallory answered plainly.

"Drinking isn't against the law, Mr. Grissom."

"But murder is." Jim rebutted the lawyer's statement. "Tell me, what else besides drinking do you enjoy doing with your beer?" He asked, teasingly pacing the room. "You look like a Heineken gal, to me."

Fear washed over her eyes as she glanced from the captain to the supervisor and then finally at her defence attorney. "I..."

"We have enough evidence, Mrs. Smith."

Mallory glanced at the blue-eyed man, taken aback by the coldness in his voice. "He was going to leave me - do you have any idea what that feels like?"

Gil pressed his lips together, trying desperately to control his anger. "You carried on a relationship with a married man; do –you– have any idea what –that– feels like to the victim of that relationship? You ruined someone else's family, you ruined your family...what do you know about feeling?" He stood up, roughly picking up his kit and headed towards the door. "Arrest her."

* * *

He stood nervously staring at the chestnut-tinted wooden door; the darkness that engulfed the house frightening him more than he would enjoy admitting. He pressed the doorbell again, hope causing fidgets to litter his actions while he waited for her to answer the door. "Come on, Catherine..." He whispered more to himself as he took out his key chain. Sifting through, he located her key and unlocked her door, stepping in. He could smell the once comforting smell of wood burning, but now it just made his stomach turn. Hanging up his jacket, he toed off his shoes and padded to the living room, smiling gently upon seeing the top of her strawberry-blonde head. He sat silently beside her, observing the fireplace flickering off her porcelain skin. He closed his eyes, dropping his head to his chest. "You went to my office." 

"I read the papers."

"You read that Christina is -"

" - that Christina is Eddie's daughter." Her eyes still refused to leave the fire but she let out a small sigh when she felt him lean closer to her. "You didn't tell me," she turned to face him, finally offering him acknowledgment of his presence, "why didn't you tell me!" She whacked his arm.

He winced slightly, more out of unexpected shock than pain. "Catherine...I wanted to, but how was I?"

"You keep hurting me, Gil. Every time you keep something from me -"

"- Catherine, you have to realize that it is the least of my intentions to hurt you." He interrupted her own hurtful words: her revelations of pain caused by his actions instilled a personal pang in his heart. "Catherine, believe me when I tell you that everything I've done - every action I have taken, has been to protect you -from- pain." He ventured his gaze to the fire place, though not wanting to concoct images of Jarod Smith being burned alive. "Trust me on that..." He added softly.

She glanced over at him slowly, guilt creeping slowly forth. "I know..." Her tone matched his whisper, and she placed a hand on his thigh, giving it a slight squeeze. "Her biological father was murdered. Her step-father was murdered. Her mother's going to jail." She let out a loud, strangled sigh. "All before her eighth birthday...what a life."

Gil placed his hand atop of hers, trying to etch comfort to her being. "Jarod's parents are going to take her in for awhile - joint custody between them and Mallory's parents." He paused, searching her eyes. "You couldn't have prevented this, Catherine, so there's no use in beating yourself up."

She bit her lip, her eyes shyly meeting his. "But how can I make it better?" Her voice was small, seemingly filled with despair.

Gil found himself pondering her statement for quite a bit, and silence engulfed both of them in Catherine's living room. Finally, amidst the fire crackling, Gil found his voice, "sometimes we can't." He sighed softly, not wanting to depress her further. "Sometimes we just have to accept it and move on. You can't fight every battle that isn't yours, Catherine."

Catherine tried to fight off the shivers at his realistic observations, but goose bumps still mocked her arms and legs. She rubbed her arms, giving her best-friend a slight nod of appreciation. "He had a daughter with her, Gil." She swallowed the tears in her voice, realizing that her dehydrated eyes would grant her no further moisture. "I feel sick every time I think about it."

She admitted weakness and Gil felt a pinch of pride in her revealing vulnerability: she trusted him. "I do too..." He directed his gaze at the fire, watching it dance to its own beat. "I felt sick every time that bastard hurt you, Cath." He ignored the shocked glance that she gave him, knowing that his heart was now on the line, as his own unveiling lead way to personal accounts he normally shied from sharing. "You didn't deserve that treatment - no one does...but especially you."

She pondered his statement as her eyes traveled back to the fireplace, hoping to find a different kind of light emanating from the flames. Silenced echoed between the clock's ticks and tocks, and both CSIs noticed the comfortable tension between them.

She narrowed her eyes, reflecting over their oxymoroned situation: this thick tension that had been looming for so long, that it merely became a part of their life. While it wasn't welcomed, neither had made any attempt to attack it, let alone discuss it.

"It's getting late," he noticed the sun's rising rays hit the horizon, "I'll see you tonight...or if you need the night off -"

" - I'll be fine, Gil." She offered a shy smile, getting up and walking him to the door, though familiar desires were slowly bubbling. "Thank you, Gil...I'm sorry if I -"

He cupped her cheek with his palm, cutting off any berating she could pursue. "Don't worry, I'm here for you, you know that." He furrowed his brow, noticing her gaze directed to the ceiling. He pressed his lips together, his voice a dreary monotone. "Mistletoe?"

She smiled, her mood lightening up. "Mistletoe."

"Mistle-woe." He dead panned.

She clicked her tongue, giving him a playful shove. "Don't screw with tradition."

He raised his eyebrow and glanced upwards, taking in the strategically placed ornament. "It's rather cliché when you think about it."

"So don't think."

He let out a small chuckle, his eyes still glued to the ornament if nothing for avoiding any awkward moments. His hand grasped the doorknob and he pulled it open, intent on leaving their daily teasing session. His eyes snapped to hers having felt her timid lips lightly brush against his and just as quickly, retreat - leaving a longing lingering behind.

"Merry Christmas, Gil."

The cold wind rushed in, and she shivered from the temperature's wrath, but more so from the feel of his lips having just touched hers. She was about to bid him farewell when he suddenly pinned her against the wall with a hungry desire, his mouth devouring hers as his hands glided up and down her waist, his fingers ever so often grazing the side of her breasts. She moaned against his mouth as one leg slipped between hers, and his thigh pressed against her core. He furiously sucked on her lower lip until it bruised, and when he obtained his satisfaction, his mouth hungrily sought the creamy skin of her neck, wanting to claim every inch of skin as his own. He wanted more but he suddenly realized his inappropriate behaviour and quickly drew back, pressing his back against the opposing wall, allowing distance to waltz between them. "Catherine, I'm sorry I didn't mean to..." He trailed off, not knowing what to say.

Not receiving an immediate response, he gave her an apologetic look and turned to head out the door, but remained frozen in spot when it slammed in front of him. He held his breath, his eyes falling to the floor, only to see Catherine's foot pressed against the door, her leg extended beside him. He turned around, slowly eyeing her, unsure of what to expect. "Catherine, say something."

She took a step forward, her hands finding his chest and she ran her hands all the way down to his pants where she hooked her fingers in the belt loops.

Her lips found his and exchanged all of her passion, lust and love with his, each understanding their shared heart. Walking backwards, she pulled him towards her room, observing him through her lashes. She felt a pang of guilt, as she realized just how much she enjoyed seeing the confused-panicked look upon his face.

W-where are we going?" He asked, his voice cracking slightly.

"To my bedroom." She replied simply as she opened the door and pulled him inside.

"And what are you going to do there?" He tried hard not to stammer as he caught sight of her bed, and his mind concocted a million and one possibilities of activities to do in such a room with such a person.

"Oh nothing much...I'm just going to show you how I can be naughty -and- nice..."

--Finis--


End file.
